


Trapped, Together

by magicconchshel



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Secret Relationship, Serious Injuries, Torture, but this is a torture fic so, nothing too violent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-14 08:21:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29539533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magicconchshel/pseuds/magicconchshel
Summary: Jazz and Prowl are captured by the Decepticons and wait for rescue
Relationships: Jazz/Prowl (Transformers)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 51





	Trapped, Together

**Author's Note:**

> hey, this is a torture fic that I wrote and posted while in class. its not TOO gorey or graphic, but you have been warned.

They never let either of them recharge longer than a few joors at a time. It was a commonly used technique to lessen the likelihood of escape. Lack of recharge decreased processor and cognitive function. 

Jazz was next to him, separated by metal bars. They leaned against each other, knowing they should not have contact, but not having the strength to deprive themselves and each other from it. 

He and Jazz still worried about their relationship being exposed, but not to the extent that they used to. They did not act intimately when in captivity, but it was not uncommon for mecha to seek refuge in each other when taken hostage. The Decepticons would not think twice about the two of them embracing or caring for one another. 

Now, they bathed in the lull that the Decepticons allowed them to have. Prowl suspected it was the end of the cycle. Their captors had already interrogated them both and had not been back since. 

They huddled together. Everything was cold. The bars between them felt like ice. But Jazz was warm and it felt nice. 

Prowl wondered why they had been kind enough to put them together. They were in separate cells, sure, but normally prisoners were placed far apart from each other to amplify the feeling of isolation. Maybe it was an act or pity, or maybe the Decepticons knew there was something between them. 

He could not bring himself to care about that right now. 

* * *

Prowl’s processor was a well crafted maze of firewalls and traps. Shockwave had been working tirelessly to decode him. It felt like there were tentacles in his helm. 

There was a set time limit in his processor in the event of his capture. Firewalls had been placed in front of valuable information to buy Prowl more time until his rescue. 

Prior to accepting his position, he had taken an oath to protect confidential Autobot intel with his life. It was an unspoken rule that he would offline himself to keep the intel out of Decepticon servos. The same went for Jazz. 

Every cycle, he could feel Shockwave get closer and closer. Soon, the time would come where they would each have to deactivate their processor and become one with the allspark. 

They still had a chance at rescue. As time passed, the likelihood of rescue deteriorated and with the Decepticons’ level of security, escape was impossible. But still, the Autobots would not abandon them unless they had solid evidence that Jazz and Prowl had perished. 

There were times where Prowl contemplated deactivation. They were few and short lived, but when Shockwave took a red piece of metal to his wings, he wondered if it would be better to send the termination code to his processor. 

Prowl knew his pain threshold was low and he was a bit embarrassed by it. Shockwave, the officer in charge of their interrogation, hated Prowl a little less than his partner and focused most of his abuse on Jazz. 

Like most special operations mecha, Jazz had received training on how to withstand extreme amounts of pain. He had taught Prowl some of his tricks, but Jazz still has much more experience than him. 

Not only that, but Jazz was feistier. He’d been here before. 

Earlier on in their stay, when they were being transported, Prowl noticed that Jazz’s demeanor was off. They were being led by a group of Decepticon guards. Their servos were wrapped tightly around their elbows and their wrists were bound. Prowl was behind Jazz, watching his back. 

Before they made it to their destination, Jazz turned to one of his guards, bit his neck, and tore open his intake. He fell to the ground, Jazz tried to shake his other captor but had been restrained by the bystanders. 

Prowl was brought to his new cell and Jazz was carried off. He did not return for joors. 

At this point, Jazz was covered in spilt energon, both his and others’. Some of it was dry, some of it was wet. Some of it was caked on in muddied layers. When it dried, it would flake off and Jazz could flick it off. 

Jazz’s injuries were harder to identify because of how dirty he was. Prowl’s were more obvious. His wings were a mangled mess. It was purposeful on the Decepticon’s end. Without his wings, Prowl continuously felt discombobulated. This was what it must be like for Jazz when he doesn’t have his visor. 

Speaking of Jazz’s visor, they took it. Jazz left one cycle with a group of guards and came back without it. 

Jazz was nearsighted, severely nearsighted. Beyond a certain distance, everything became so blurry, he couldn’t make out what was there. He only took off his visor at night when in his quarters with Prowl. He knew he would be safe there. 

Not only that, but Jazz was apprehensive to anyone seeing him without his visor. Prowl was an exception, and Ratchet on occasion, but other than that, he found it embarrassing. It did not matter that they would likely never see these Decepticons again once they were out. Jazz did not want them to see his optics. 

When he first saw Jazz thrown into the cell without his visor, Prowl did not know what to say. It was like seeing him naked. And Prowl had seen Jazz both many times. The first time he had seen Jazz without his visor was just as intimate as the first time he had seen him without armor. 

He envisioned clamping his servos down over his optics to shield him from their view, much like what he would do if Jazz were nude. He did not do that, the only reason being that they were separated by bars. 

He did, however, meet Jazz at the apex of the corner where their cells were separated. They sat together, touching at the hip and Jazz leaned down and pressed his helm against Prowl’s shoulder as best he could. 

Prowl often thought that the missing visor was a positive, in the end. Unlike Prowl, he could no longer see in clarity the grave injuries on either of their frames. 

* * *

Their hunger had grown beyond bearable. Prowl was uncertain of how Jazz felt, but he would be willing to bet it was similar to how he felt. 

The feeling in his tank had gone beyond painful and beyond nauseous and straight into emptiness. It felt like his frame may eat itself alive. That may be a more favorable option at this point. 

Thoughts of going home were beginning to intrude his mind. He couldn’t stop it. 

Jazz had already advised him to keep those thoughts at bay. They would start coming on strong the longer they were in here, but they would only hinder the situation. It would discourage him and lower his confidence. He needed to stay present and keep his helm out of the clouds. 

At the beginning, it wasn’t a problem for Prowl. He had kept focused during many other stressful situations, this shouldn’t be a big deal. But as time went on, he could see what Jazz meant. All he wanted was his berth and Jazz in his berth and their mismatched blankets and his oversized pillow he liked to recharge with that took up too much room on the berth and-

He could not continue. 

Instead, Prowl chose to take refuge in the small wedge of warmth he felt on his thigh with Jazz leaning on him like this. Oh, how he longed to have a conversation with him without being under the watchful surveillance of Shockwave. 

He wondered if they had caught on by now. That they were together. 

Prowl almost didn’t care anymore. He wanted to kiss Jazz. 

There were times, in between missions and battles, where Jazz was happy and collected and relaxed. A different kind of bliss. One where the struts in his frame were limp to the touch. 

He imagined Jazz in front of him. His face was angelic and his lips were slightly parted. He had such beautiful lips. Perfectly kissable. Prowl leaned forward and pressed his lips to Jazz’s. They mashed together. Prowl’s tongue fell out of his mouth and brushed against Jazz. He hadn’t meant for that to happen, but found he could not control it. 

But when he opened his optics, he did not see Jazz staring at him lovingly. Instead Jazz looked upset, desperate maybe. Energon was smeared over his face and his optics were closed. He did not open them. Prowl watched his helm roll to the side and clank against the wall. 

They did not kiss again. Prowl let his helm do the same and he watched him until falling into recharge. 

* * *

There was a commotion outside that Prowl couldn’t bring himself to react to. It was far away; he could barely hear it. It sounded, almost like, yelling. Or cheering, maybe. It was likely the guards having some sort of get-together again. 

Jazz was beside him, still in recharge. It didn’t seem that the noise bothered him much at all. 

Prowl offlined his optics again and rested against Jazz. The noise did not stop. It only got closer. Prowl wanted it to stop, it was disrupting his recharge. 

There was a horrid banging on the door. It rattled on its hinges. Part of Prowl was interested to see what it was, but he was far too tired to get up and check. 

When the door swung open and flew off the frame, he did nothing other than bury his helm further into Jazz’s shoulder. The noise was instantly louder, no longer muffled by the door. There were voices now. If Prowl had concentrated, he would have been able to make out what they were saying, but in his lethargic state, determined that it was unimportant. 

The voices were all around them now, hovering over him. It was irritating. 

Someone was touching him. They tugged at his shoulder and tried to pull him away from Jazz. Prowl pushed back at them. But when he wrenched himself free and went back to lean on Jazz, he found he was gone. 

Prowl’s optics were wide open now. He searched beside him for his partner, but he was gone. 

A ways away from Prowl, far beyond his reach, Jazz was being doted on by a group of mecha. They surrounded him, laying him on the ground and poking him with their tools. Prowl was about to say something, but the servos returned and made him sit up straight.

“Prowl, come on,” someone said. “I need to see your wings.”

When Prowl looked to his left, he saw Ratchet and a few field medics from his team. Two medics lifted him away from the wall and sat him in the center of the room, much like what they did to Jazz. 

Ratchet knelt behind him and assessed the damage. Prowl felt a prick in his arm and suddenly his frame started to feel numb. More numb than before. 

“There’s not much I can do here,” Ratchet said. “We’re going to have to wait until we’re back on the ship.”

Ratchet helped Prowl lean forward and another field mech caught him by the elbows. He was hoisted onto a stretcher, lying on his front, and taken away from the cell. 

From there, Prowl lost sight of Jazz, but gained a new perspective on where they had been kept all this time. The entire base had been stormed. There were Autobots everywhere. Every Decepticon on sight had either fled, been killed, or captured. 

Ratchet took the helm of the group and led them through the base and up the ramp onto the ship. Prowl’s optics were closed for the majority of the trip, it was too bright for his sensitive optics. He opened them as they entered the ship. It was massive. Had Prowl a clearer helm, he would have been able to identify what model it was. 

He was placed in a private infirmary room. The field medics helped to transfer him onto the medical berth, still lying on his front. They worked around him. Prowl could neither see nor sense them due to his damaged wings, but the sound of them working lulled him into a peaceful state. 

Ratchet narrated as he worked, a common tactic medics would use to keep their patient calm after an extreme level of trauma. Usually, they would just place the patient in stasis. Unless, he was so damaged he was in danger of slipping into a permanent stasis, then they would give him light sedatives and leave him be. 

As Ratchet was working, Prowl asked, “Where’s Jazz?”

“He’s in the room next to yours. We’ll move you in together once you’re both stable.”

Ratchet and his team resumed their work. The medics and nurses pinched off bleeding lines and welded him back together. Ratchet stood at Prowl’s side and got to work on his wings. He would have to put them in splints until Prowl could undergo surgery.

“The Decepticons know Jazz and I are together,” Prowl said. 

Ratchet did not respond at first. “Why do you say that?”

“They saw us together.”

“Hm,” Ratchet responded. “Well, whatever they saw, I don’t know if I can blame you for doing whatever you did. It’ll be sorted out at a later date.”

Prowl accepted that answer and let his optics fall shut. 

* * *

He did not know how long he had been offline for, but when he woke up, Prowl found that the nurses were wheeling Jazz into his room. He watched them place the medical berth beside his, turn off the lights and leave. 

Jazz was right next to him now. If he reached out, he could touch him. Prowl propped himself up on his elbows, the bottom tips of his wings bumping into his hip. If he had not been sedated, it would have been painful. 

He extended a servo and placed it on the arm of the medical berth. “Jazz,” he said. 

Jazz’s optics onlined. He was staring at the ceiling, not finding Prowl for a few kliks. Their optics locked and Jazz reached for his servo. Prowl turned his over and they embraced. 

“What did they do to you?” Prowl asked. 

“Welded me back together,” Jazz said. “What about you?”

“They’re fixing my wings.”

“Not taking them?”

“No.”

It was a relief. Prowl’s wings had been in bad shape. He suspected that the energon flow into his appendages had been severed entirely. Unlike his other limbs, wings could not be replaced. Once they were fatally damaged, they had to be removed and Prowl would lose one of his senses. 

His arm was getting tired. Prowl put his free servo flat on the cushion and hoisted to lift himself further. Jazz asked what he was doing. Prowl did not respond. He slid his legs off the side of the berth and sat on the edge. 

“Is there enough room for two?” Prowl asked. 

“Sure.”

Jazz moved to the side as best he could. At this angle, Prowl could properly see Jazz’s physique. His right leg had been removed from the bottom down. 

He was pressed against the opposite arm of the medical berth, providing just enough room for Prowl to squeeze in. Prowl moved to sit on the edge of Jazz’s medical berth and slid the metal barrier down. He gave a tug on the lines in his wrist to length their lead and laid down. On his side, he was able to put little strain on his wings. It was not the best for energon flow, but would likely not damage them any further. Ratchet would not be happy regardless. 

Prowl rested his servo on Jazz’s chassis, not seeing too many fresh welds there. Jazz laid his servo over his lovers, both embellished with wires and tubes. 

Neither were able to move much. They were soaring across the planet, likely only having to spend a night aboard the ship. The recovery would no doubt be lengthy. Prowl’s wings alone would need decacycles to heal before they could be freed of their splints. But until then, both were satisfied to simply lay and bask in their newly found freedom. 

**Author's Note:**

> hope u enjoyed :))))))


End file.
